“Poetry?” She sounded wary, almost alarmed. “Only seldom, Your Grace.”

She instantly lowered her gaze and resumed toying with her dessert, swirling the tines of her fork in the raspberry cream icing. She’d eaten very little of the cake, Hadrian observed, having seen her nibble only a few crumbs.

That she could find her food more fascinating than him was a source of mild frustration. Over the course of the meal, he had attempted a number of conversational ploys, asking her about her interests, her friends, her plans for the upcoming season. But nothing he’d said had drawn her out of her shell for more than a minute or two.

“You needn’t be shy, darling,” Lady Godwin said from the foot of the table. She, too, had been trying to coax the girl to little avail, and the smile she aimed at Hadrian seemed strained. “Ellen adores Shakespeare’s sonnets, Your Grace. I’m sure she has some favorites that she could quote to you.”

Lady Ellen rolled her eyes. “That was when I was fifteen, Mama. I won’t have time for reading, anyway, once we go to London next week.”

Wymark drained his wine goblet. “I daresay you might like Lord Byron’s verses, sis. He’s all the rage with the ladies. Not that I would read such silly drivel myself.”

“Richard,” the countess said in a chiding tone, “that is most impolite when His Grace has expressed an interest in poetry.”

Actually, Hadrian cared not a whit for such useless nonsense. He had only brought up the topic because Natalie had suggested he try his hand at writing a love poem to Lady Ellen. Thank God she seemed disinterested. He would have detested having to scribble clichéd cantos—words that had to rhyme, for pity’s sake—just to win her affections.

“It’s quite all right,” he said. “Horses are a topic of greater interest to myself and Wymark. How is that new nag of yours, cousin? The one you purchased for a song from Lord Ludington last week.”

The younger man slid a glance at his father, who was signaling to the footman to take their plates. It was obvious Wymark would rather his sire not find out about the near-accident in the stable yard. Hadrian might have had sympathy if the stallion hadn’t almost trampled Leo and Natalie.

“Thunder is no nag,” Wymark said defensively. “He comes from a line of winners. I’ll soon be able to collect high stud fees for him.”

Godwin drilled him with a sharp stare. “You had better pray so,” he told his son. “That harebrained purchase wiped you out for this quarter and the next. Don’t come begging me for any advances, either.”

“But I saved forty guineas off the going rate at Tattersall’s—”

“You’d have saved a great deal more by not buying that wild beast at all. I’ve already received a complaint from Snodgrass. The animal tore across his newly planted fields and nearly flattened one of his tenant farmers.”

“Baron Snodgrass?” Lady Ellen perked up. “Whom did he send over to deliver the note?”